Author: Janna Hill

Little Man

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

IT’S TIME TO GO to bed little man
Cover up your head little man
I’ll see you when the sun breaks in the morn

Say your prayers and close your eyes
I’ve locked the monsters all outside
She’d sang those words to him since he was born

He grew to be a brave young lad
And followed after his ole dad
Beneath a flag of pride his oath was sworn

They brought him home in silk lined wood And all around him soldiers stood
While Butterfield’s Lullaby played on the horn

It’s time to go ahead little man
I know that you weren’t scared little man
My heart breaks, I can’t see you and I mourn

I’ve said my prayers for your closed eyes
I’ve tucked my feelings deep inside
She sang into a folded flag of thorns.

As If (NPM)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

I have kinda sucked at posting for some time now; I’ve even sucked at sharing poetry for National Poetry Month. And I feel like I should feel bad about that – but I don’t.

Does that make me a pitiful poet? An absent author? A bad blogger?

Hold on, I need a moment of affirmation.

Alrighty. I feel better.

It’s a hazy, damp day here in Texas so I feel like something a little—

Have you ever noticed how much people talk about how the feel? Lawd!!

Anywho, here’s a NPM contribution from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within).

Hemingway’s Beloved (Friday’s Free for All)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Torn [first] from the pages of Horror Writer’s Association Poetry Volume 1

DID YOU SHAKE HIS HAND –?
the hand of a man’s man?


Did you see how his eyes searched the space around him as the world grew smaller?


Did you learn the secrets of Africa or discuss his tomes over drinks?


Of course not.


You could not for we were mere children –
our wedding day marking the twenty second anniversary of his exodus… his rise to immortality.


He won the Nobel Prize for Literature the year you were born – did you know that?


I was but two months in the womb when he placed the beloved twelve-gauge inside his mouth and obliterated the ciphering pheasants once and for all.


Did you see how he caressed her?


How her cold, soft metal against his finger was as pacifying as the perfect daiquiri… how she (his beloved) alas cured him of the demons.


In a flash she rooted them loose one by one
from their hiding place – a place liquor nor currents could mole; a cavern so deep no joule or watt could grasp.


Ahh, but she did.


She exorcized them, set them to flight riding on soft grey tissue laden with hemochromatosis and fragments of bone.


Christ might have offered the fiends a swine but not her or better yet not him…


A sacrifice for the Bay of Pigs?


It was all such folly—such unholy madness for a simple man and a literary saint.


*Hemingway’s Beloved was republished in Getting Me Back ( The Voices Within)

Waiting (Friday’s Free for All)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

For hopes that hung on a chicken bones

For hearts that lived in chains


For pods of green that died unknown

While waiting for the rain


For dreams left bare on empty prayer

For souls that wished in vain


For tears unshared in mute despair

While waiting for a change

For you and I and all mankind

For worlds where peace was slain

For faith and mind no man can bind

We wait and wait again.

Remember, it’s National Poetry Month. Get out there & enjoy the journey.

Poem from Getting me Back (The Voices Within)

Remembering Princess Leia (#TBT)

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

I was thinking of Leia today. She was a dog my daughter rescued from euthanasia & left with us on the farm.

Her crime? I’m not sure other than being an undesirable white shepherd; a black sheep that sullied the breeding pool.

Leia was oftentimes mistaken for a husky because of her beautiful icy blue eyes. I never cared, I simply thought she was beautiful.

We could never make her understand the boundaries of the 10 acre farm – she felt sure it extended to a half mile radius.

Finding the photo of a book cover with her (playing the part of Gus) left me a little nostalgic.

It’s oddly amazing how animals touch our lives. …Our hearts.

In loving memory of Princess Leia.

I’ll see you in the clouds one day.

Women’s Liberation

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Well we are in the final hours of Women’s History Month or Herstory as it’s been announced daily for the last 31 days.

Every year, March is designated Women’s History Month by presidential proclamation. The month is set aside to honor women’s contributions in American history.

I guess that’s a good thing. Either way, here’s my annual contribution in all her glory.

The poem below was inspired by the sage advice I received years ago from an elderly lady who truly fought to make a difference in the role (and treatment) of women in society. I feel she made a historical impact by influencing the small groups around her. She certainly left an impression with me.

I won’t name her because her M.O was to act subtly and not bring attention to herself. Surprisingly she got a lot accomplished with her (ur-um) antics. RIP A

Women’s Liberation

We did not burn our bras but wore them proudly; Holding–supporting–glorifying the mammary glands that would feed the next generation;

For the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. 

We did not give animated voices to our vaginas for the world to hear but let them speak in secret whispers that moved mountains. 

We did not make a spectacle in the streets to prove our equality For we knew in our hearts [already] that we were superior. 

The above poem is from Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

Happy Friday y’all & remember tomorrow starts National Poetry Month.

Saint Patrick’s Day (Friday’s Free-for-All)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

An old man once told me, “Saint Patrick ran the snakes out of Ireland and now they rule the world.”

I thought I would share that belief along with a little history. Oh, and a little poem.

St. Patrick’s Day, feast day (March 17) of St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland. Born in Roman Britain in the late 4th century, he was kidnapped at the age of 16 and taken to Ireland as a slave. He escaped but returned about 432 CE to convert the Irish to Christianity. By the time of his death on March 17, 461, he had established monasteries, churches, and schools. Many legends grew up around him—for example, that he drove the snakes out of Ireland and used the shamrock to explain the Trinity.

Source: Brittanica

Poem by Janna Hill.